Chapter 18
FREDERICK
Frederick watched Caroline ride away with his willpower in pieces at his feet and the distinct feeling that his heart was about to disappear around the edge of the cliffs along with her.
Would it ever find its way back to him?
He put his boot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle, urging Flint into a walk, then a steady canter. The stretch of sand felt wider without Caroline beside him, the wind more whipping.
Water splashed his boots and breeches generously as he rounded the cliff she had warned him of.
She came into view once more, her skirts rippling in the wind.
He suppressed the urge to press Flint into a gallop. She wished for distance, and he would give it to her, though it grated him to stay away.
He had told her that everything he had ever wanted had felt just out of reach. He had not realized how much more painful it would be to have had her in his grasp for a few heady moments, only to let her go.
He did not doubt she held him in some level of affection. Her kiss and the way she had looked at him had put any such doubts to rest.
But she did not trust him.
The knowledge sat heavy on his chest, for one could not force trust.
As she reached the path that led up from the beach, she looked back over her shoulder.
He smiled, and she returned a tentative one, then continued on her way until she was lost from his sight for good.
He let out a long breath.
He had not been lying when he had told her that he had come to care more about winning her than a Parliament seat.
Of course, his own hopes and dreams had not suddenly vanished simply because he was falling in love with her. But if forced to choose, it would be Caroline. A hundred times, he would choose her.
And perhaps that was what he should do. Perhaps that was the way to earn her trust—to remove himself from the election to show he was willing to sacrifice everything for her. For her trust.
The thought settled uneasily inside him, for what would he do then? He had so little to offer her already. He was an obscure fourth son with barely enough land to his name to even qualify to stand for election.
She, on the other hand, was the Dowager Lady Radcliffe. Refined. Educated. Possessed of an entire estate and the power to sway an election.
She could have any number of gentlemen for the taking, including Oswald.
Was, then, the only way for him to gain her trust to sacrifice the very thing that would make him feel as though he could endeavor to deserve her?